The Other Side
by Jenna42
Summary: Postscript to "Point Blank"
1. Chapter 1

I don't own them; I'm just playing.

Postscript to "Point Blank"

"Peter"

"What?"

"Look, I know you're angry. I made a mistake and I'm sorry. Can we at least talk about it."

"You didn't make a mistake, Neal. You made a choice. And I doubt that you're sorry."

"Peter, please"

"Don't. Don't tell me that figuring out the con didn't excite you. Don't tell me that you didn't have fun creating that file. Don't tell me there wasn't an adrenaline rush waiting to see if I'd take the bait. And don't tell me that in the end I wasn't just another one of your marks.

Do you want to know how it feels from the other side, to be conned by the great Neal Caffrey? It hurts, Neal. It hurts to feel used and cheated and manipulated and humiliated and _stupid._ Does any of that matter to you? I doubt it. You do the job and walk away without a thought for the devastation you leave behind. And the worst part is that I knew better. I knew what you are and what you do and I still let my guard down, because I believed, just like your other victims, that you wouldn't do it to me.

But part of the blame is mine because you warned me, Neal, didn't you, and twice at that. When you told me the better life I offered wasn't the life you wanted and when you said that the job here was just exchanging one prison for another. I should have listened but I was so sure that I was right about you, that there was a good man inside you, not just a man who sometimes did good things. Maybe there is but I know now that I'm not the one who can bring him out.

Trust but verify. Do you remember? There will only be "verify" from now on. Maybe we can deal more honestly together, now that neither of us has any illusions about our relationship.

Good night, Neal."

End.


	2. Chapter 2

Diana

I was cold. Which was surprising, since hospital waiting rooms are always too hot. But if I concentrated on not shivering and then counted the squares on the hideous flocked wallpaper over and over again, it was possible to avoid thinking about what Peter had said for a surprisingly long time. Only not forever.

Perhaps if I considered practicalities it would be easier. He'd said "Good night, Neal", not "Goodbye"; he'd said we would deal more honestly together in the future, which had to mean there would _be _a future whichincluded us both. Didn't it? Was I supposed to go in to work tomorrow...no, today. Peter hadn't said. He'd said... no, don't go there. Think about it later.

The hospital was outside my radius, but I'd been with Peter so it hadn't mattered. When the doctor had told us Mozzie would recover he'd also told us to go home, that it would likely be 24 hours before visitors would be allowed. I could go straight to the office or back to June's or, in the lethargy that had descended upon me, I could just stay here, and let someone else make the decisions for me. In all likelihood, I was going back to jail anyway, whether that was what Peter wanted or not. At least there I would only hurt myself.

When the door opened and Diana came in, it took me a moment to collect myself and stand up. There were things I should say to her, I knew, but my brain seemed oddly reluctant to put together a coherent sentence. I got as far as "Diana, I'm sorry" when she cut me off. "Peter sent me, Neal. I have a car downstairs to take you back to June's. You're to stay there or here at the hospital till you get the go ahead to come back to work, assuming any of us still have jobs at the end of this mess. Peter's extended your radius till Mozzie's discharged."

In the car we were silent till she drew up at June's. Then I said what I had to, before she could leave. "I know you don't want to hear it and I know it's just words and they don't mean anything, but I'm sorry, Diana. I'm sorry about the break in and the trouble you and Jones and Peter are in because of me. I'm sorry about all of it." I wanted anger from her then; anger I could deal with. Peter hadn't been angry. He'd only sounded defeated and that I couldn't bear. But in her eyes, when she looked at me directly for what seemed the first time that night, I saw only calm and what might have been pity. "You violated my home, Neal. I think about what might have happened if Christie had come back early from her shift, instead of me, and found Alex there and tried instinctively to stop her and it makes me sick. You're my colleague, someone who's supposed to have my back, just as I have yours, and I thought you were my friend. So you're right, Neal, "sorry" isn't enough. It'll take time and deeds, not words, to work through this. I hope, for Peter's sake, more than anyone else's, we get that time. "

As she turned away, I said the last thing," Will you thank Peter for me, Diana, for giving me access to the hospital. He's, "and I stumbled for a moment over the words, "kinder than I deserve. "

There was no softening in her face but she nodded. "Keeping you away would be punishing Mozzie too. Peter's not like that. I'll tell him though" and she was gone.

In the grey dawn I went into the house.


	3. Chapter 3

The days went by. I found a routine; call the hospital in the morning to check on Mozzie, visit in the afternoon, home, return there in the evening. He'd regained consciousness, but still slept most of the time. All I had to do was reassure him each day that he was safe and that I'd get him out of there as soon as was possible. He was in no state for a big emotional scene, so my apology for almost killing him was brief and undemanding. I had no right to put my need for absolution on his shoulders.

The hospital was almost 4 miles away, which used up more time. I walked there and back, in the hope that I could tire myself out sufficiently to sleep. Most nights, though, I lay open eyed until dawn, hearing Peter's voice in my head.

June brought me food I didn't want and I forced myself to eat it. She knew that something was wrong but didn't ask questions when I told her that I'd made a mess of things and wouldn't be going to work till it was sorted out. She said only that she was there if I needed to talk.

When the door opened one morning I assumed it was her. Seeing Jones instead pulled me to my feet. He or Diana had called me every day to check in, the briefest of conversations to confirm Mozzie's condition, and, I assumed, to ensure that I was where I was supposed to be, but I'd seen no one from the office until then. He was carrying a file, which, with a "May I?", he put down on the table and then took a seat at my mute invitation. "Peter thought you might have some insights into this case. It looks like a run of the mill embezzlement but there are a couple of interesting features. You can phone me if you come up with anything." Then said "Neal?" as I stared at him. "Sorry", I cleared my throat. "You're not here to arrest me, then?" Which was stupid but that seemed to be my default condition these days. "Not yet. In fact we're all working damned hard to keep you _out_ of jail."

Which made no sense."Why? I've quite possibly put your job in jeopardy. Why on earth would you want to help me?" For a moment I thought he would brush it off but then he sighed and said "Sit down, Neal, and listen. Why Peter and Diana are doing it you'd have to ask them. Me? I'm doing it because Peter asked me to, simple as that. The best agent I know trusted me enough to bring me in and believes that I'm good enough to be of use. That's important to me. But maybe I'm also doing it because I'm not proud of the fact that part of me would like to see you gone from the unit." Which was entirely understandable and I said so, but he shook his head.

"I wanted you out long before this happened, Neal. When Peter picked me for his team I had one ambition – to learn from the best and one day be his right-hand man, the one he turned to when he needed help. But when you arrived I saw that wasn't going to happen. I'm smart but I'm not Neal Caffrey smart. It isn't just that I don't have your specialised information. I can't challenge Peter, follow his thoughts the way you do. I've accepted that now, but there's still that petty, jealous impulse inside me that wanted to tell him 'told you so, told you not to trust him' when I found out how badly you'd screwed up. But I'm not that guy and I'll work my butt off to prove it, even if that means having you stick around . Because that's what Peter wants."

He nodded as I said futilely "I'm sorry", then got up and went to the door. "I'll wait to hear from you about the file." And just before he left he gave me an unexpected and undeserved gift, "Peter said to tell you he'll be in touch soon, Neal." That night I slept.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter phoned two days later. I was working on a second file that Jones had brought me that morning, so focused that I'd answered my cell before I registered the Caller ID. When he said "Neal?", it took me a moment before I could respond. He got down to business straightaway.

"The hospital told me that they're discharging Mozzie at the end of the week. Will he stay at June's? I assume he'll need looking after for a while."

Another one of my failures that had to be acknowledged. "He's making other arrangements, Peter. Now that he's mobile he just wants to disappear for a while and that includes getting away from me. I can't blame him."

There was a pause as he digested that, then said "That's difficult for both of you. I'm sorry," which was kind, "but he's a witness as well as a victim, Neal. I can't let him go completely off the radar."

"He understands that. When he's needed I'll be able to contact him but I can't promise you how he's going to react. He's angry, Peter, and frightened. I know you had security precautions in place at the hospital but at the moment the only one he trusts is himself. If you push him you might lose him altogether." I tried to keep my tone factual and unemphatic. There was no reason for Peter to trust my judgment anymore, even on Mozzie, but I knew how easily any FBI action could push him into running for good. I let out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding when Peter said "All right. I'll let him leave without surveillance, Neal. Not that he's likely to believe me but tell him anyway. And tell him again I'm sorry we had to keep contact limited to you and me. Diana and El wanted to visit and I'm sure June would have too but it was safer to keep everyone away."

"I will. And thanks." One problem dealt with at least.

"If Mozzie isn't going to need you, you might as well come back to work. Monday morning?" He made it sound as unimportant as if I'd only been away on holiday, but it took an effort to keep my "That's fine" as casual and I was grateful when he moved quickly on to a discussion of the files Jones had given me. At the end he said only , "Good, I'll see you in the office" and hung up. I sorted my thoughts. It hadn't been much of a conversation but it was a start, wasn't it. Stilted and formal, but a start.

The next morning, expecting Jones when I answered the door, I had a moment of disbelief when I saw Elizabeth standing there, a tentative smile on her face. It was only after I'd brought her inside and saw her seated opposite me, felt the warmth she always seemed to generate, that I accepted the reality of her presence. I tried to say how glad I was to see her and watched her face become serious as she leaned forward. "I wanted to see you, Neal, but I thought we all needed some time and space between us for a while. Tell me how you are and how Mozzie's doing." "I'm fine," I said, automatically, and, while we discussed Mozzie's condition, I tried to work out how best to ask about Peter, something I hadn't felt able to do with Jones and Diana. Elizabeth gave me the opening I needed, as we chatted about my going back to the office. "I imagine the team are pretty busy", I said offhandedly, and knew it hadn't worked as she held my gaze. "If you want to know how Peter is, Neal, just ask me. Haven't there been enough games?" I took a breath and nodded. "Please tell me how he is, Elizabeth."

There was a line that might have been pain between her eyes as she said "Overworked, exhausted, unsure of himself" and then from nowhere "Do you still have nightmares about Kate, Neal?"

I wanted to say it was none of her business but this was Elizabeth so I said only

"Sometimes. Not so often now." She'd said "still" so Peter had told her then. One night, on surveillance together in a car, we'd worked an 18 hour shift. Sleep had been far from me since Kate died and, in the middle of a discussion on, of all things, the aesthetics of baseball, I'd had to stifle a series of enormous yawns. Peter had laughed and told me to take a nap while he waited for our shift change. I'd been asleep almost before he'd finished. It was always the same dream, the plane exploding, but in it I heard Kate screaming over and over again, screaming for me, while the flames engulfed her. I saw her skin peeling off, I saw the body I knew so intimately twisting, blackening and blistering, I smelled roasting flesh, and I watched, unable to move, unable to cry out, while time slowed and stopped, playing the same unbearable scenes in an unending loop.

I came back to Peter's voice saying my name, to Peter's hand shaking me awake. He'd let me recover in silence and asked no questions, saying only "Tell me if I can help." I wanted to say that it helped that he knew and that he cared, but I couldn't get the words out. At the end of the shift he'd driven me home and at least I'd been able to say thank you as I got out of the car. He'd known I hadn't meant only for the lift.

"Peter's nightmares are about killing you. "

That had to be something I'd misheard, had to be, surely, but Elizabeth's voice, continuing, said no.

"In that room, with your gun pointed at Fowler. Peter's an FBI agent, Neal. It didn't matter that Fowler was probably a murderer. It didn't matter that you were his friend. All that mattered was that you were going to kill an unarmed man and his job was to stop you, at any cost. And agents aren't trained to wound in those situations; they're trained to kill. So he has nightmares, about watching you die at his hand. And sometimes about his letting Fowler die instead_, because_ you're his friend. You wanted to know how he is._ That's_ how he is."

I'd thought I'd known all the damage I'd done but this was unbearable. What was the point of saying I was sorry again; what was the point of anything.

I don't know what she saw on my face but she patted my knee lightly and said "I'm not trying to guilt you, Neal", then, "well, maybe a little. But I need you to understand what your choices are. I know that Peter wouldn't listen when you tried to apologise. He knows that was a mistake and he'll tell you so given half a chance. But you're going to have to talk to him properly. If you try to gloss over what happened, then you and Peter will have a perfectly viable, professional relationship, where you can help a lot more people. You'll be supervised a lot more closely of course but you'd expect that. And you can leave your options open, to run or not. But if you want more than that, if you want something more personal, you're going to have to do more than say you're sorry. You have to let him know where he stands ."

Peter had said "you tell me" when I'd asked if we were partners. This was the same, then, but it was the last thing I wanted to do. I gave Elizabeth my best smile and said "You think we should have the big relationship discussion? *Peter, we need to talk…I know we're good together but I don't think this is going to work out… we're in different places in our lives… we want different things… it's not you it's me… I hope we can stay friends* Do you really think that's going to help?" I hoped to make her laugh but her face was grave as she said "It's your decision, Neal. Make up your mind about who you are and what you want; then be honest with yourself , and with him" and stood up to leave.

After she'd gone I went out on to the terrace and let her words blow through me like the breeze. "Who you are and what you want". I was Neal Caffrey, con man, who wanted all the good things in life. And if I wanted to change, to be more, what price was I willing to pay?


	5. Chapter 5

Over the next few days the terrace became my thinking place. Part of me - a large part - wanted to believe Diana when she'd said in effect that my actions would speak louder than words. No need then for talk. But Elizabeth knew Peter better than anyone. If she said I had to clear the air, one way or another, then so be it. In my head I constructed elaborate scenarios, inventing both sides of conversations, all of which went incredibly well, absolved me of blame and boiled down to an "I'm sorry; I won't do it again" from me, an "I know" from him and a manly handshake. As a fantasy it was actually comforting for a while. Lying awake through the white nights I still had no idea what to do.

On Monday morning I went back to work. As I went through the entrance I told myself that it was perfectly natural to feel nervous. It didn't help, until every other emotion was swept away when I saw Peter for the first time in almost a month. He was talking to Hughes, on the stairs, but he gave me a half-smile and a nod, as I made my way to my desk. I raised my hand in acknowledgement while my mind scurried around tallying first impressions. He looked worn; not just tired, although even from a distance the dark circles under his eyes and the lines of strain on his face were obvious. But I'd seen Peter work himself to the edge of exhaustion before; this was different; more than physical. Peter shouldn't look like this. I wanted…I wanted not to feel guilty; I wanted not to feel helpless. Instead, I sat down at my desk and busied myself with the files there. If I could do nothing else I could at least do the job as well as possible.

I lost track of time as the morning went on and jumped as Diana appeared in front of me saying "Go for lunch, Neal. There'll be a team meeting at 2.45 and it's almost 2 now." It occurred to me that I was actually hungry but I was right in the middle of a tricky extrapolation and I didn't want to stop, so I nodded vaguely and said "I'll get a coffee, thanks" and waited for her to leave. Instead her tone was sharp as she slapped a hand down on the desk "Lunch, Neal, not coffee. Peter needs you at your best."

She was right of course. I didn't know how far off my game the last few weeks had pushed me but it made sense not to start with any disadvantage. This first meeting had to go well. In the event it was almost anti-climactic. We dealt with a few bread-and-butter cases; then, finally, a convoluted fraud involving multiple IDs and a seemingly impossible timescale. Before I knew it Peter and I were having one of our old-time, overlapping conversations, finishing each other's sentences, drawing in the rest of the team and coming up with a plan to take things forward. Some things we hadn't lost then.

At the end of the meeting, as I rose to go with the others, Peter called me back. I sat down again, with an inward tremor of apprehension, which sharpened as he made sure the office door was closed and said "I need to update you, Neal, on what's going on with your case." And "Listen" as I made to speak. "This is the party line. The fake file and your involvement with Alex I can overlook, professionally. The information on the stolen silver has been passed to the relevant authorities, along with my best guess on the responsible party. Alex will have to take her chances." I nodded and he went on "The investigation into Mozzie's shooting and the murder of his friend is ongoing. I've handed over information on the Dutchman and my belief that the killings were linked to the music box, but nothing about the code. The real problem is what happened at the exhibition. There were witnesses to your confrontation with Fowler. I've said what I could in mitigation but the only reason you're not in jail now is _because_ of Fowler. He's as anxious to keep this quiet as we are. He's testified that the whole thing was an unfortunate misunderstanding; that your actions were entirely justifiable and that it should all be quietly forgotten." I must have looked as incredulous as I felt for he said, as if I'd spoken, "I know. There's no reason why the Bureau should accept what he says. Something more is going on, some pressure from above that just might let us get away with this. Something I need to find out about." "I", not "We". I wondered if that was deliberate. There were questions I needed to ask but I said first the most important thing, "If it comes to it, Peter, you have to put me back in prison. Don't risk yourself, and Jones and Diana, for my mistakes." I couldn't tell from his expression what he was thinking but he said only "I'll bear that in mind" and moved on.

When we'd finished and as I went to the door, he said "On a side note, I've been looking at your tracking data for the last few days. You kept within your two-mile radius. Didn't Jones tell you I was leaving the four-miles in operation till today and that you weren't restricted to home and the hospital any more?" He had, after Elizabeth's visit. It hadn't seemed important, but Peter was looking at me curiously. "Why didn't you take advantage of the extra freedom, Neal?" I shrugged "Habit, I suppose. And I was busy." It sounded unlikely to me, even as I said it and I saw the disbelief on Peter's face. I thought he would challenge me on it but instead he turned away with a kind of weary resignation, and said "All right. That's all."

First decision, then. Such a small thing, but if I left it at that it was just another half-truth, another step away from him. I said desperately "I couldn't do it, Peter. Because it would have been exactly what you said *taking advantage*, being rewarded for what I'd done" and then, lamely, "I know it sounds stupid." Stupid or not it was worth it. There was a smile for me, more like the old Peter smile, though he said only "I wouldn't have seen it like that but I appreciate that you did" and I left, feeling absurdly elated.

The elation didn't last. Over the next two weeks, while I told myself I was just looking for the right moment to approach Peter, I saw very clearly how right Elizabeth had been. We were still an effective working team, but that was all. Time wasn't going to close the distance between us. Only I could do that.

The chance came on a visit to a derelict hotel which was tied in to an ongoing investigation. Jones had called in, asking Peter and me to join him there. We took Peter's car and, as he went to start the engine, he gave me an unexpected smile and asked lightly "Awkward silence or inane conversation?" Without volition, but with a piercing moment of clarity, I heard myself saying "I'm sick of both. I miss you, Peter." There was what seemed like an endless pause as he turned to look at me. The smile had gone but there was something in his eyes which hadn't been there for a long time. He said gently "I miss you too, Neal. Unfortunately, that doesn't solve our problem." I gripped my hands together and said "I know. You said, if we didn't have to go back to the office after the inspection, you'd drop me back home. Will you come in and talk to me? There are things I have to say, if you'll listen." He gave me a quick, sidelong glance and nodded. "I should have listened before. I'll call Elizabeth from the hotel and let her know I'll be late."

We were quiet after that, but I didn't mind. An indefinable sense of strain had disappeared. I'd walked out over the edge and now at least I would find out what the landing would be.

At the hotel the ancient, wheezing elevator took us slowly to the sixth floor, as we discussed what to look for. It finally juddered to a halt and then, without warning, the lights went off, there was a rending, screeching sound and it dropped into the darkness, flinging me into the wall. It could only have been seconds before it stopped, although it seemed an eternity. I sat up cautiously, relieved to find that everything worked, and stretched out a hand into the gloom, saying "Peter?"

There was no reply.


	6. Chapter 6

**Last chapter. This got a bit - a lot - expositiony - sorry! Ultracape said it best I think. They're not the show's Neal and Peter (because I don't have the skill to reproduce their unique voices) but they're my overlay of the characters and I've had terrific fun writing them and reading all those lovely people who took the time to review. Thanks again.**

As I groped my way forward, there was a click and the emergency lighting came on; feeble, but enough to let me see Peter huddled in a corner of the elevator, a hand to his head and blood streaming through his fingers. He was conscious, at least, opening his eyes as I got to him and letting me examine him. There was a triangular flap of skin hanging down from a long scalp wound, but I felt a surge of relief as I saw that, although it was deep, no bone was exposed. I had nothing to clean it with, but my jacket had a handkerchief , to use as the basis of a pad; and, in one pocket, a cutting device, which Peter would probably rather not know about. I shrugged out of jacket, waistcoat and shirt and used strips of shirt on top of the pad and then as a bandage. Under pressure, the bleeding slowed and then seemed to stop. Immediate problem solved. I gave what I hoped was a reassuring grin as I examined my handiwork, saying "Properly piratical" which brought a faint smile in response, as he asked "What about you? And don't say you're fine. You're always fine but are you hurt?" "Bruised but nothing more" and added "Truly, Peter" as I saw the doubt in his eyes.

As I went to check his pulse my cell rang; Jones, thank God. I put him on speaker so that Peter could hear and without preliminary he said, "Neal, I've been trying Peter's phone but there's no signal. Help is on its way; engineers, police and an ambulance. Are you two OK?" I updated him quickly, rang off and got on with checking Peter out. It was a matter of time now and making sure he was comfortable. His pulse and heart rate were both elevated but not enough to cause immediate worry. He admitted to tenderness on his right side, and winced when I put any pressure on his ribcage but I couldn't feel any separation and his breathing, though slightly shallow, wasn't causing him any difficulty. Which left his head injury. There were no immediate signs of concussion; I checked his pupils with the torch attachment on my cell; equal and reactive; he was talking normally, didn't seem sleepy and swore that the pain was localised to the flesh wound, but what he needed was a hospital and an MRI and I couldn't do anything about that. All I could do was monitor him and pray that they got us out as quickly as possible.

Under my hand I could feel him shivering. At least the lift was wood panelled, which meant it wasn't too cold. Very carefully I eased him forward and got my jacket round him. As he tried to protest I said "Bodyheat. We'll keep each other warm" and drew him back till he was leaning against my chest and I could drape my waistcoat and the remains of my shirt over him. It took a few minutes but gradually the tremors stopped and his muscles, held rigid against the pain and shock began to relax as I held him close.

He gave me a considering glance and said "You're good at this." I could hear the question in it and nodded "I've had to be. When you live outside the law there are times when a doctor isn't your first option."

"When you live outside the law." He repeated it quietly and then said "We were going to talk. This seems like as good an opportunity as any. Talk to me, Neal. Tell me what you want from me." I quelled my instinctive "No." Less than ideal circumstances didn't count when I needed Peter to stay awake and communicative; and if it distracted him from our situation that could only be a good thing. I tried for lightness and smiled at him. "For starters I'd really _really_ like to have a conversation with someone where I don't have to say the words "I'm sorry"." As he raised a quizzical brow I shrugged and said "And yes I'm aware of the fact that all I have to do is stop doing things I have to apologise for." He smiled back but I knew he wasn't going to let me off the hook, so I braced myself and said "I want you to forgive me."

He tilted his head a little to hold my gaze and said at once "Of course I forgive you, Neal. Friends fight; they make mistakes. God knows I've made enough of my own, including too many in how I've treated you. " And raised a hand as I said involuntarily "No". "Yes. Listen, Neal; I don't for a moment make excuses for what you did. You're not a child I have to make allowances for. But I could have handled things better. You saw Kate murdered in front of you and found yourself back in prison, having to deal with all that entails, instead of having time to grieve in private. And then you were back in the office and expected to get on with the job. I should have tried harder to help. Instead of which I lied to you about the music box and went on lying even though I knew it was driving a wedge between us. If I'd trusted you more and tried to work with you, maybe we could have avoided this whole mess. I'm sorry, Neal."

Which was more generous than I deserved. I said "You helped, Peter; more than you can know" and rushed on "And you lied to me because you were afraid of what I'd do, to protect me. When I said I'd never told you a direct lie I thought it was something to be proud of, that in one small way it made me better than you, when we both knew you weren't telling me the truth. But it was just another way of conning you. I was thinking of myself and you were thinking of me. That's a pretty big difference."

He moved his head a little, carefully, to see me better and said "We both went wrong, Neal, and we're both sorry. I wish that was enough to move on but it's not. Can you see that what happened with Fowler isn't the stumbling block between us? I understand why you went after him, why you wanted to kill him." "You stopped me" I said involuntarily, and he smiled a little and said "No; you stopped yourself. You're not a killer, Neal. And that's a huge thing to learn." He didn't know how close I'd come, how his belief that I wouldn't pull the trigger had made the difference, but he was right, Fowler wasn't the problem we had to discuss. I took a breath and said "The file" and he looked away from me for a moment and then sighed. "It seems such a small thing compared to all the melodrama, but do you understand why it felt like being kicked in the teeth?"

"Because I made it personal" I said. And swallowed all the other words of explanation and regret. In the end they didn't matter. And as he said "yes" softly, I forced myself to add "That's why you have to stop caring about me." There was a line between his brows that deepened as he asked "Why should I stop caring, Neal?"

"Because I _hurt_ you. Because I'm capable of hurting you like that." I wanted to shout it at him. "You weren't supposed to be hurt. I thought you'd be angry. We've been angry at each other before and got over it. But this was different. I made it personal and I didn't even think about it."

"So it's an unselfish wish" he said thoughtfully. "Except of course that it's not. If I don't care about you, I can't be hurt by you, that's true, but it also means there are no expectations on you; no need for you to think of anybody else. You can go back to doing whatever you want without worrying about the consequences."

He knew me. Sometimes I hated that about him. But I owed him an explanation so I made myself continue. "That's the point, Peter. I _don't _worry. All my life I've seen what I wanted and got it any way I could. And I only thought about the people involved as problems I have to solve. You were right when you said I walk away and never look back. In my world that's always been a good thing; maybe the one necessary thing. In yours it seems that thoughtlessness can be worse than making a conscious decision to do wrong. Because if you're making a choice that implies that you can choose otherwise. Whereas if you simply don't think, don't care, you don't realise there even _is_ a choice. I never had boundaries before you. Mozzie and Kate and I, we lived by the same standards, believed in the same things. Until I met you there was no one in my life who ever said no to me on moral grounds. No one who's made me at least think about trying to change. But I don't know if I can."

"Or if you really want to" he said flatly and I looked back at him and said "No" because he deserved all of the truth; and then "It would be easier not to."

He thought about that, then said "Has it been easy these past weeks? It hasn't been for me." Damn him, why did he have to be so honest? He saw my answer in my face and his voice was serious. "You understand it's your decision then, Neal? I have to accept it, whatever it is, but I need to know how we go on from here."

But that wasn't fair. I'd wanted only to let him know how sorry I was and then _Peter_ was supposed to say what happened next, to lay down the law. That was his job, literally and figuratively. Irrationally I felt a flare of anger towards him and heard the snap in my tone as I said "You mean you want to know where you stand with your pet project: "altruism unlimited : the redemption, or not, of Neal Caffrey"." He said "Ouch", ruefully, but before I could panic "I'm OK. Metaphorical ouch. It sounds like a bad Victorian novel, with me in the role of Lady Bountiful and you as the undeserving poor. If I've made you feel like that, Neal, then I'm truly sorry. It was never my intention. But I don't apologise for wanting you to _want _another way of living. If you see someone on the top of a cliff, preparing to take a path you know ends in disaster, you tell them and direct them to the safer path. You'd do it for a stranger; how much more for a friend."

"And if I want the dangerous path? Need the adrenalin rush?" And saw him sigh. "I can't give you reasons to change, Neal. They have to come from you. Like any addict. An alcoholic has to want something he can only have if he stays sober, just a little bit more than he wants that first drink."

I didn't want to think about that; not then, anyway. So I asked instead "Why do I ma…" and changed it quickly "why does it matter, if I change, so long as the job gets done?" I knew why it mattered to me, but, for all my thinking, I still couldn't understand why he gave a damn.

He said, with just a trace of exasperation, "You're a valuable asset, Neal, You have a unique set of skills and our conviction rate's gone up since you joined, which means more bad guys put away and justice for more innocents. And, yes, we can get the job done, even without trust between us, but that's not the point. I told someone once that you weren't just my entrée into the criminal word; you were the person I went to when I needed help. And I meant personally as well as professionally. I'm not giving that up without a fight. Besides," and his voice lightened suddenly, "do you have any idea how much I _enjoy _you?" I gaped at him and heard him chuckle as he said "I know. Making people like you is your stock in trade and maybe it doesn't mean anything. But I like smart, Neal, and you're smarter than almost anyone I've met; I like that I don't have to explain things to you; I like the challenge of keeping one step ahead of you. And more than that I've seen your capacity for kindness, for love. I know how _good you can be. Why wouldn't I be afraid of watching you throw that away. And you would, believe me. Eventually a life outside the law eats away at what makes you human. I've seen it too often. Don't make me watch it happen to you."_

_The phone rang. Throughout our conversation I'd been aware of the sounds filtering through from outside; sirens and the whirr and grind of machinery. Since there was nothing we could do neither of us had mentioned it. But now I desperately wanted the interruption . Jones said "Neal, we're almost ready to get you. Give us 5 minutes. The ambulance is here and Diana's on her way to get Elizabeth. She'll take her straight to the hospital. Tell Peter we'll look after her."_

_When I hung up, we looked at each other. I tried to think of words to say to reassure him, slippery words that wouldn't commit me to anything, but it seemed I still had just enough integrity to refrain from such an ultimate betrayal. Instead I drew him a little closer and said only "Rest now." I heard him sigh and then, very carefully, he turned his head into the hollow between my neck and shoulder. I could feel his breath against my skin, reassuringly steady. And, very gently, I laid my cheek against his hair and considered the inevitable. Something I wanted more than I wanted my old life, my old ways. _

_Peter wanted me to make a moral decision; choose good over evil, honour over dishonour; he'd say that you couldn't live your life for someone else. And he was right. I was doing this for myself. In the end what it came down to was this man in my arms, who was as vulnerable to me as I was to him. Losing him wasn't an option. I said softly "Peter" and, as he opened his eyes and smiled at me, "I'll try. I promise." That was all, but it was everything and we both knew it. I felt his hand reach up and tighten over mine, where it rested above his heart. "Me too" he said and we were silent together._

_The elevator doors were pried open a minute or two later and they came to take him from me. Jones was there, draping his jacket round my shoulders, and a medic, with a blanket, left the group around Peter , and told me to sit down so that he could do some tests. I tried to tell him I was fine but he insisted "Your partner told me to check you out and make sure you were examined at the hospital." I let him do what he wanted while I thought about that._

_My partner. How simple it was. I was Neil Caffrey. I was Peter's partner. I was Peter's friend. And I'd do whatever it took to deserve that honour._

_Outside, as I walked to the ambulance, feeling the weight I'd lived with for so long lifted from my soul, I looked up and saw in the darkness one shining star of hope._


End file.
